He Sighs Softly
by SireneNomdePlume
Summary: She walks in the pub, midnight sharp. It's slower on Thursday nights and she likes it that way. He walks in, a quarter past twelve, swooping in almost ostentatiously, but she knew it was just habit.


**I'm kind of working on Improbable Attraction. I completely lost my drive and motivation for a long time and couldn't work on that fic for my own sanity, honestly. And life is getting in the way still. I'm very stressed and have so much on my plate right now but I'm trying. I'm in the process of copying my fics from my AO3 to here, yay! Not all of them, I have more on my account on AO3. Enjoy this PWP ;)**

She walks in the pub, midnight sharp. It's slower on Thursday nights and she likes it that way.

He walks in, a quarter past twelve, swooping in almost ostentatiously, but she knew it was just habit. He glances her way, and his glare thickens. She sighs and ducks her head down to inspect her wine.

He moves toward her, pulling out a stool to sit next to her. _A whiskey neat,_ he says, and she hides her grin in her glass of wine. She has work off tomorrow but isn't looking for a headache in the morning. She can feel his eyes on her, and she tries her very best not to turn his way. She relents, moving her body to angle more at his.

They exchange pleasantries, _Call me Hermione,_ but he's anything but pleasant, still sneering and greasy as ever. Talk starts over drinks, and he doesn't laugh once, but their conversation is now fairly amicable. It's strange, but exhilarating at the same time. He's quite private, but why wouldn't he be? It's normalcy and habit, and they both know it.

He's lonely, because she's never, in the six years of being his pupil, talked to him this much. At least not one-on-one. She gets up to go to the loo, and he thinks she's leaving. He says goodbye, but his eyes say something that sounds a bit like stay.

 _I'm not going anywhere,_ and she goes to the loo to put on more lip gloss. She doesn't wear makeup often, if at all, and why, _why_ was she doing it now? She doesn't really know, but she puckers her lips anyway.

 _Should you even be here? In a seedy Knockturn pub, all by yourself? You shouldn't, you should learn to not trust anyone. Do you? Do you trust people so easily?_ And she snorts as she sits back down. She can handle herself, and he knew it, he's just playing with her. She wasn't one for mind games, but she can follow them aptly just the same.

She scoffs and shakes her head, downing more wine. She's not drunk, maybe a bit tipsy, and she leans into the bar counter, her breasts hitting the harsh wood. If she hadn't glanced over at him, she'd have missed his eyes drifting down toward them. Interesting.

He was lonely. She was lonely. For now. So she mentions slyly that she doesn't have anywhere to go that night other than home, by herself. He nods and his gaze is smoky and enticing. His lips quirk and she wants to taste his smirk.

But they don't make it to her flat, they make it to a bedroom in the seedy pub-slash-inn, and he pays for it, but it's cheap, so she doesn't mind much.

He starts with her hand, and she never realized how erogenous one expanse of skin she uses every day could be. She gasps and her hand trembles as he sprinkles kisses and bites up her arm, over her shoulder. He reaches her throat and she tugs his hair roughly to press him closer. Uneven teeth snap, soft, wet tongue soothes as she shivers and moans. It's his turn to pull her hair as he reaches a more sensitive part of her neck and she melts in his hands. He's barely touched her and she feels at the cusp of orgasm already.

His hands cup her breasts, squeezing and rolling as her hips move of their own accord. Their thighs mate and her dress rides up, thin albeit plain knickers dripping and leaving a wet spot on his trousers that she can feel when her leg rubs up against him again. Her dress rips in half, he'll mend it, he says, but she can do it herself. He removes his own clothing, not hastily, and she's on the edge with anticipation. His cock is ruddy and thick and long, his plump balls hanging underneath. She walks over to him and falls to her knees in worship. She rubs her face against the crinkle of his pubic hair, inhaling his salt, his sex. She doesn't play with him for long; she moves to the head of his cock and trails her tongue over his slit, swallowing down the dew that beads at the tip. He groans; velveteen, smooth and deep, and she decides she likes these noises very much. She sinks down further, and his fingers run through her hair, unclasping her barrette as her curls bounce down. He wouldn't be able to run his fingers through it—she's panting and slick with sweat—but he tugs her up and down as she builds a steady rhythm. She has a hungry mouth that feeds him, and he seems to be aching with starvation.

She realizes that she pities him, but he wouldn't want her pity, so she shoves the feeling away and focuses on his musk, his moans. His hips start to move against her face, and suddenly he pushes her away and points to the bed.

She sighs and falls down, feeling her long hair splay out underneath her. He doesn't kiss her on the lips but he moves down her body, kissing her everywhere else. He reaches her mons, placing an open-mouthed kiss on the freshly shaved skin there, trailing his tongue down to flick her clit. She clenches and sighs, spreading her legs open as he settles in between them, drawing her clit into his mouth and sucking on it leisurely. Her head thrashes back and forth and he slowly thrusts two fingers inside of her quivering entrance. She can feel herself sucking him in as he sucks on her, and he releases her hard little pearl and laves it in broad, thick strokes with his tongue.

He doesn't let her come on his tongue and fingers. Just as she approaches her climax he withdraws, and she feels like hexing him. The feeling doesn't last long—he moves up her body and penetrates her in one slick movement, and she throws her head back in abandon. She rocks into him as he thrusts slowly, his strokes picking up until he's pounding her roughly, her head banging the headboard as she cries out, tears sparkling in the corners of her eyes. _Please, please let me...make me..._

She comes first, pulsing around him and feeling her body go lax as she comes down from the high of her orgasm. He follows soon after, his lips against her neck as he tenses, their sweat mingling as he shudders and pumps into her, twitching and sighing so softly, she wouldn't have heard it if he hadn't been breathing in her ear.

They stay joined for a few moments, and he doesn't fall on top of her, but she can feel the strain of his muscles holding himself up a bit, and she nudges him to the side. He falls down on the side next to her, his breaths harsh and heavy.

 _Will I see you again?_ And she doesn't know what he will say. One intimate encounter may not equal a relationship. But she almost doesn't want to hear what he had to say in return.

He says that he frequents Knockturn Alley often, and wonders why she was there in the first place. She honestly didn't know for certain, other than Seamus telling her it was a slow place with a decent bartender. She likes the quiet life and anonymity. She knows he does, too. She tells him that, and he nods brusquely, giving her a half-smile and lifting himself from the bed.

He dresses, and she waits to dress until he stares at her one last time before leaving the room. He didn't mend her dress. She smiles to herself, and flicks her wand and slips back into her casual dress.

Until next time, Severus Snape.


End file.
